


It Helps

by joshlymanwalkandtalk (Joshlymanwalkandtalk)



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: Cohabitation era, Comfort, DC years, Glasses of water, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Nightmares, Pining, Spooning, Underwear, dc era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-31 06:13:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10893387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joshlymanwalkandtalk/pseuds/joshlymanwalkandtalk
Summary: Tommy's been having nightmares and Jon brings him water. It's a routine.





	It Helps

**Author's Note:**

> Working title COHABITATION NIGHTMARE

Tommy’s eyes fly open and his chest hurts. Light pollution bathes his ceiling and it burns his eyes, too bright in the darkness. He's breathing hard, trying to slow down. Images in his head melt and fade. His shoulders are tense, pulled up painfully towards his ears, but he can't even remember why.

He steadies his lungs, breathing through his nose, and tries to relax his painfully twisted muscles. No amount of concentration is having any effect and he sits up, trying to stretch.

His door knob clicks and Lovett whispers, “Hey, are you okay?” though a narrow crack in the door. His voice sounds asleep, stuffy and thick. Guilt sets up shop in Tommy's gut.

“Sorry. Just, uh, a bad dream, I guess,” Tommy stammers, his lungs not as back to normal as he thought. “No big deal, really.”

Lovett's shadow nods and disappears, leaving Tommy with an unnecessary red face in the dark. Tommy turns and fluffs up his pillow, finally able to sigh. His neck and shoulders still ache, the tension unrelenting.

Before he can lay down, Lovett comes back, this time coming into Tommy's room and sitting down on the bed. His eyes are barely slits and his exhalations are sleep heavy. He hands Tommy a glass of water and they sit together on the bed. 

Tommy drinks the water. It's so cold, it almost shocks him, but it feels grounding. He didn't realize how dry his mouth was. He takes deep breaths in and out of his nose between gulps.

Lovett absently touches Tommy's back, gently circling his fingertips over his smooth, clammy skin. Lovett's hand is cool and wet from carrying the water. Tommy's shoulders relax. It feels nice. His breathing slows down and so does his heartbeat.

“You good?” Lovett mumbles. His hand, already heavy with sleep, drops to the bed. Lovett’s eyes look like they've been closed the whole time.

“Yeah,” Tommy whispers. “Thanks, man.”

"Good night,” Lovett says as he gets up and leaves, pulling the door closed behind him. 

“Night,” Tommy calls after him in a stage whisper. He returns to fluffing his pillow and lays back.

A controlled inhale.

A controlled exhale.

He can already feel his muscles give in and he smiles in the dark. He quickly goes back to sleep, and the mystery images don't return.

______________________  
  
  


They don't cross paths until after work that night. Tommy comes home late, his to do list requiring more and more hours every day. Someday he'll simply live in his office.

They meet at the fridge, both looking to loot it for the evening's dinner. They're mostly in shadow, only the tiny light above the sink turned on.

Tommy's stomach flutters from what must be  _ some _ hunger, and totally nothing else. “Sorry I woke you last night,”he says quietly.  Suddenly, he forgets how to stand naturally.

Lovett squints.

“Thanks for the water,” Tommy continues waiting to be stopped. He can see the gears working in Lovett's mind trying to place his thanks. “It was… nice.” Tommy hesitates. He wishes Lovett would make him stop.

Lovett goes pink. “I thought that was a dream,” he laughs.

“You dream about me?” Tommy says, trying to make a joke, but he can't quite stick the landing. He shifts his weight to his left foot.

“Hey, I heard something and then I was in your bed. I thought it was like the others,” Lovett almost deadpans. Tommy can feel even his eyes blush. He's thankful for the shadows. “I don't even want to know the kind of things you have nightmares about. Couldn't know anyway because they're probably classified.”

Tommy chuckles and his shoulders loosen their stranglehold. Walking around all day, there's such a high baseline tension holding him together, he forgets that sometimes he can relax. “It was just a stress dream.”

“Yeah? First day of high school and you can't remember the nuclear codes to get into your locker? How embarrassing!” Lovett opens the fridge, rummaging through the sparse options. “I usually stick to the old nudity nightmares. You will not believe how many places I've been naked. Always in front of the worst people too.”

A weak laugh bubbles from Tommy’s lungs. “Well, you really helped.” Tommy looks down at his slippers, trying to get the words out without being too much. “I actually slept really well the rest of the night.”

Lovett pulls a take out container to smell it. He doesn’t pull a face, so he closes the door, choice made. “My mom used to do that when I had nightmares. Felt like the right thing to do.” He looks like he’s softer for only a second before his game face returns. He shoves an egg roll in his mouth, the grease making his lips shine. “Don’t get any ideas about calling me Mommy or you’re on your own,” he grumbles around his mouthful. He’s got crumbs falling down his shirt. Tommy smiles. 

Lovett walks around him to go to bed. “Good night,” he calls over his shoulder and shuts his door.

Click.

“Night,” Tommy mumbles to the empty kitchen. He grabs what he hopes is his sandwich from two days ago and goes to his own room.

Click.

______________________  
  
  


Tommy jerks awake, the sensation of falling at odds with being nestled in bed, tangled in his sheets. His heart is pounding against his ribs. His whole body feels so taut that even his hands ache. It’s been a week since his last nightmare. This one is just as terrifyingly forgettable.

Bright light is spilling from under his door. He can see two shuffling shadows materialize. Knuckles rap at his hollow wooden door and Lovett strolls in before Tommy said a word. He pads over with a large glass of water and sits on the edge of the bed. Tommy takes it and immediately chugs half of it, not hiding the aftermath this time.

“What on earth are these nightmares?” Lovett snickers. “What are they doing to you over there?” Tommy’s mouth is ringed with water droplets and he licks his lips. Lovett scoots up to the headboard, leaning against it, picking his feet up from the floor. He wraps his arms around his middle, making himself comfortable.

Tommy puts the glass down on his nightstand and turns back to Lovett, elbow bent to hold his head up. “What are you still doing up?”

“Staring at the most judgmental page of words I’ve ever encountered and my mother emails me near daily. I’ve written and deleted the same 500 words 10 times tonight.”

Tommy’s smile pulls half of his face, the other half weighed down by concern. “You need to sleep, man.”

“That’s rich coming from you, buddy,” Lovett giggles quietly. His voice is soft.

Tommy pulls his arm from under himself, plopping flat on his back, head nesting into his too-soft pillow. “Seriously, you need to get some sleep too. The terrible words will be there in the morning.” Tommy is staring at his too-bright ceiling. He needs to get curtains. “The morning’s gonna be here soon enough, a couple hours in bed won’t hurt. You’ll thank me, I swear.” Tommy sighs. “I know it’s weird, but your glasses of water… have helped? I guess? Maybe it’s just nice seeing a familiar face when your unconscious body decides it’s under attack.” Tommy smiles again, his eyes feeling heavy. He looks over at Lovett, his thigh next to Tommy’s face.

Lovett’s head is tipped against the wall above Tommy’s headboard, his arms still hugging himself. His breathing is slow and steady, slightly sticking in his throat before coming out between his parted lips.

Tommy stares for a moment, careful to keep still. Lovett is such a weird creature when he’s turned off. All the manic energy, the constant need to be on, all of that stripped away is so vulnerable. Tommy gets to see it more than other people, but it’s still… special to him.

Tommy weighs his options, eyes watching the rise and fall of Lovett’s chest. He decides to let Lovett sleep. He needs the sleep, Tommy thinks. It’ll help him.

Tommy sinks further into his too-soft pillow and closes his eyes. He can still feel the heat of Lovett’s body next to his as he falls back to sleep. “Night,” he whispers to no one.

______________________  
  
  


The alarm clock across the room blares in the murky morning light, and Tommy feels like he’s rising from deathly depths. He can’t remember being this heavily asleep in months. He opens his eyes and the first thing he sees is the side of Lovett’s sweatpants-covered thigh. It shocks him awake harder than the shriek across the room.

“What the hell?” Lovett mumbles in the noisy chaos. He stretches and rubs at his neck, face pinched. Tommy bounds across the room to shut the beeping off. “How do you deal with that every morning? I’ve always wondered.” His eyes are still mostly closed. He rubs his palms over his face and fingers through his hair. “It’s bad enough through the fucking wall.”

Tommy is standing in the middle of his small room like a newborn giraffe in his boxers. At least that’s how Lovett’s described him in the past. He bets this would be one of those times. Not the boxer thing, though. He still hasn’t found his bearings enough to do more than breathe.

Lovett finally opens his eyes enough to stare at Tommy.

Tommy can already feel the flush blooming across his bare chest.

Lovett’s mouth curls into a lecherous smirk. “Did my dreams finally come true?” Tommy’s stomach pools around his feet. He laughs nervously and quickly grabs a shirt from the back of a chair. Lovett slides off the bed and stretches again, still nursing his neck. “You should be ashamed of yourself, taking advantage of my fatigued state and making me sleep.” His voice cracks the higher he reaches his hands over his head. A yawn stretches at his mouth. “You’re a bad man, Thomas Vietor.”

Tommy’s cheeks feel hot and he tries to keep his smile neutral.

Lovett holds his neck and walks out of Tommy’s room, presumably to get ready. Again, Tommy feels guilty. If it wasn’t for him, Lovett’s neck wouldn’t hurt and he might be done with that speech. Probably. Maybe. A familiar refrain echoes in his head: don't screw this up.

______________________  
  
  


Lovett goes out of town for… Tommy can’t remember. It’s been another rough week and things have slipped through the cracks. He knows Lovett told him, but he can’t remember for the life of him, which makes a small ache flare in his belly. He gets home late that night to his empty apartment and goes straight to his room, too tired to do anything else. On his nightstand is a full glass of water. Dust floats on the surface and Tommy smiles. He doesn’t move the water and slips into bed. He lays on his side, staring at the water until he finally falls asleep.

He sleeps through the night.

  
______________________  
  


His episodes maintain a frequency of almost one per week. When the next one rolls around, Tommy’s ready for the routine. He takes a few deep breaths and swings his shaky legs off the side of the bed. He pads to the kitchen, his feet loudly sweeping across the floor in the low light.

In the glow of the fridge, Lovett’s face is a mix of sheepish and surprised. The water pitcher is in his right hand, the other hand holds an over-full glass. The fridge door is hanging open, poorly illuminating the room.

“Well, this is awkward,” Lovett says, his face pink in the cool light. His t-shirt is rumpled and his feet are bare. “We have to stop meeting like this.” Tommy is still catching his breath and Lovett puts the pitcher away. He takes the cup from the counter and extends it to Tommy. “I guess you came for this.”

Tommy takes it with a small smile. Their fingers brush and Tommy's stomach adds another knot to its collection. He drinks it quickly, eyes locked with Lovett through each gulp. It's oddly intimate until the glass is empty.

“Maybe you should talk to someone,” Lovett says. Tommy is unnerved by how little judgement he can hear in Lovett’s voice. His blatant concern seems alien.

“I talk to you,” Tommy says, passing the empty glass between his hands, covering himself in condensation. It chills his bare chest and he can finally breathe again.

Lovett crosses his arms and leans his hip against the counter. “I come in the night to bring you water like a phantom and sleep in your bed like a vagrant.” He shakes his head. “That's not talking.”

“It helps,” Tommy shrugs. His voice feels small.

Lovett avoids Tommy's eyes and puts his hand out expectantly, wiggling his fingers until Tommy gives him the glass. He turns to fill it again. “Like my mom always said, a drink can do a lot to help,” he says to the backsplash. He turns back to Tommy and passes him the glass. His smile is stretched funny across his mouth. “She was talking about gin mostly, but I think water counts.”

Tommy can see Lovett's mask building across his sleepy face. Tommy's sad to see the Lovett, the one that's not looking for an audience, fade. He wishes he could make him stay.

“I could talk to you,” Tommy offers.  Lovett's eyes snap back to Tommy's, his guard paused. Tommy starts to panic. He doesn't know where he should backpedal to, just that he should start. “Could… I… talk to you?” Tommy panics that he's panicking too much. He can see the struggle behind Lovett's eyes: earnest or funny. He takes a long pull from his glass. His hand doesn’t shake.

Lovett's face softens again, a nervous and confused smile widening his mouth. “I mean, yeah, but,” he pauses, actually at a loss for words. “Why?” The word is a puff of air from his lungs, his lips puckered

Tommy furrows his brows. “Why what?” He’s groggy, but he was sure he was clear. If that's the case, he can still turn back. He can save himself. Change the message. Bury it down.

Lovett huffs an empty laugh. “Why me?”

“Why not?” Tommy replies carefully. He sucks his bottom lip, trying to stop the stupid words. Neutrality is the key, but it's getting harder.

The corners of Lovett's grin dip, but bounce back. His chest rises and falls subtly in the near dark. Tommy's eyes glue to the tiny movements, and then his chest feels like it collapses.

_ Lovett doesn't understand it's him, that he's the one that does this to Tommy and that Tommy doesn't want it from anyone else. _

“After you calm me down, I sleep better than I do all week,” Tommy says, no longer turning back from this. He's staying on message and letting it go. “Why wouldn't I want to talk to you?” Confidence grows in his chest.

“I've never, in my entire life, been a relaxing presence. For anyone. Anywhere.” Pink is spreading up Lovett’s neck from underneath his collar. “I think those nightmares must be a sign of something bigger if you find comfort in me.”

He can see Lovett glance down at Tommy’s mouth and lick his lips. Tommy’s mouth goes dry again, but he’s forgotten about the water in his hand. He’s so anxious and in the moment, he’s numb.

Lovett chuckles and mimes looking behind himself, a playful and defensive smirk on his face. “Are there headlights behind me I don’t know about?” 

Tommy looks away and puts his water down on the counter. He's losing steam and he can’t look back at Lovett. Maybe he's making a mistake. “Sorry, never mind, just the dream. It’s still messing with me.” He wiggles his fingers dismissively. “I should-” he thumbs over his shoulder and rotates to walk to his room.

“Wait,” Lovett blurts. “I mean.” His hand is reaching out and he’s red all over. “You forgot your water.” He hastily points to the counter.

Tommy stops doubting himself and gets on with it. He leaves the water, grins at Lovett, and walks back to his room. “I'm gonna try to sleep again.”

At his door he takes one last glance at Lovett and bites the inside of his cheek. He can't imagine that the giant breadcrumbs are too hard to read. He strolls into the dark of his room. He leaves his door wide open and sits on the far side of the bed, back to the door. He can see his faint shadow in front of him on the pale wall. The door creaks and the shadow gets bigger. Lovett's in his doorway when Tommy twists around.

“Need help?” Lovett is small in his doorway and his voice isn't as sure as Tommy's used to.

Tommy has no idea what he's doing, but he's doing it. He rolls to lay on his back, head on his pillow. His head lulls to the side and he looks at where on the dark figure Lovett's face should be.

“I really like it when you do,” Tommy whispers. He crosses his hands over his stomach, fingers between fingers.

Lovett steps inside and sits on the other side of the bed. Tommy looks at his slumped back rise and fall before he spins to lay back. In the quiet, he stares at the ceiling and Tommy watches him.

Lovett darts his eyes sideways, not moving his head, and then back to the ceiling. “Is this the part where you want me to ask if you want to talk, but actually mean something else?” His voice sounds big in the room, but it might just be close.

Tommy doesn’t turn away from him. He continues to stare until Lovett's head turns to face him. The light from Tommy's window leaves so much of Lovett's face in shadow, but Tommy can still see him part his lips.

Tommy's blood feels on fire. He feels powerful. He hesitates to hesitate and rolls, throwing his arm over Lovett's chest. He closes his eyes and presses his mouth to Lovett's, almost entirely on target. The force presses the back of Lovett's head into the pillow while Tommy shakes his leg between Lovett's thighs. He can feel Lovett's erection hardening against his leg.

Lovett grabs at Tommy's hips and moans deep in his throat. Tommy's veins sizzle. He pulls away and hovers on his elbows. They're both breathless. Tommy's erection brushes against Lovett's hip through his boxers.

“Why Tommy, if this is what you needed to sleep through the night I would've volunteered, nay, insisted on helping,” Lovett says, maybe trying to sound like a Southern belle: breathless, but the drawl is all over the place. He runs his hands up Tommy's bare back. A smile cracks his ruddy face and he looks Tommy dead in the eye. “Because I care about you, of course. As a roommate.” Lovett slides his fingers along the edge of Tommy's boxers to the front and pulls it down until Tommy's penis falls onto Lovett's belly. “No homo.”

Tommy exhales a laugh and smiles. His skin is white hot. He brushes his lips against Lovett's, not quite not touching. “Yeah, totally,” he deadpans clumsily. He snakes a hand between them and palms the bulge in Lovett's underwear. “No homo.” Tommy rolls his eyes closed and teethes on Lovett's bottom lip, pulling slightly. He sucks at it and lets it pop from his mouth.

He looks down at Lovett's pink, hungry mouth, lips parted and shiny. He kisses him and carefully yanks his boxer briefs down to wrap his hand around Lovett’s erection.

A high-pitched hum rattles Lovett's throat and he kisses Tommy with more force, pulling him down, matching Tommy's hunger. He raises his knees, urging Tommy on, pushing him forward. He moans louder, “Ahhhh! Aren't I supposed to be helping  _ you _ ?” Tommy swipes his thumb over the head of Lovett’s dick. Lovett moves his grip faster on Tommy’s to catch up. This time Tommy moans. The sound rumbles from deep in the pit of him. He kisses across Lovett's jaw, stopping at the dip below his ear, then down his neck. He can feel every sound against his lips.

“Ahh, uh,” Lovett gasps, “are you sure this is making you tired?” Tommy grins against Lovett's collarbone and slips his fingers underneath his shirt. “Because this is firing me up.” He pushes Lovett's shirt up to his neck and Lovett squirms, panting. 

Tommy sucks a red spot on Lovett's chest and Lovett threads his fingers through Tommy's hair. He can feel nails against his scalp and it feels like electricity. He pushes into Lovett's hand and grinds slowly, moving his hand at the same beat. They find a rhythm.

“Oh my God, you really are a bad man, Thomas Vietor.”

Tommy slides back up to kiss him again. Tommy bends his elbow and lowers himself onto Lovett, chest to chest, angling for more room between them to move his fist. Their kisses become open-mouthed gasps, Lovett's breath hot on his mouth.

Tommy buries his face in the pillow at the crook of Lovett's neck and ruts faster.

Lovett’s body jerks and arches. “Ahhhh - you're the worst!” he moans, coming between them. It makes Tommy’s ear ring. 

Tommy groans into Lovett's shoulder, the shiver through Lovett’s body making his stomach flutter, pulling him over the edge. His bones melt and he collapses onto Lovett's… everything, ass still in the air. He can feel Lovett's heaving chest struggling beneath him. He rolls clumsily, plopping back onto his side of the bed. His boxers are low around his thighs.

The pillow was dark and now the ceiling shocks his eyes. The air is cool on his sweaty front. They breathe in time, deep and ragged.

Tommy doesn't move when the bed creaks and the melody of his breathing becomes a solo. He can hear the sink splash noisily down the hall. He turns his head when Lovett pads back, another shadow in his doorway. He's holding a glass of water and a washcloth. Tommy can see wet spots on Lovett's boxer briefs where he must've dabbed them clean.

“So I said some things,” Lovett starts, kneeling on the bed, “things that might be construed as hyperbole.” Tommy sits up and Lovett gives him the water, which Tommy drinks thankfully. “Or even slander.” He sits back on his heels, picking at the edges of the damp cloth.

Tommy smiles and puts the half empty glass on the nightstand. His eyelids feel heavy.

“You are not, in fact,” Lovett says, hesitating, “the worst.” He hands Tommy the washcloth. There's a long pause. “...I guess.”

“Thank you?” Tommy slides off the side of the bed and stands with his back to Lovett. He pulls his boxers down his legs and kicks them across the room to the foot of his hamper. He runs the washcloth over himself and throws it in the same direction. His sloppy throw is five feet off. He’ll fix it in the morning. He returns to bed, limbs wobbly.

He drops heavily on the mattress and sighs, very still. Lovett stares at his body spread out on top of the covers, looking him up and down. Tommy folds his hands behind his head, too tired to feel self-conscious, and lets it happen.

“You're still pretty bad, though,” Lovett adds weakly.

Tommy reaches up and crumples Lovett's shirt in his fist, pulling him down for a slow and sweet kiss. “Stay,” Tommy whispers eyes locked with Lovett's, his face still in his space. Lovett nods silently and Tommy lays back.

Lovett settles in next to him and maneuvers the blanket over them both. He lays on his side, looking at Tommy's profile. Tommy can't keep his eyes open any longer. He touches Lovett’s hand, trying to stay connected in the dark. He craves the calm in the closeness.

Lovett's warm arm curls around Tommy's middle and a contented sigh escapes Tommy's chest. Warmth washes over him. Tommy presses Lovett's hand against his middle and turns away, pulling his arm firmly around him.  “See? Helping,” Tommy slurs into his pillow.

Lovett, now the big spoon, hugs him tightly and Tommy gives in to the quiet. The last thing he remembers is Lovett whispering in his ear.

“Good night.”

**Author's Note:**

> Troye Sivan's "EASE" and "TALK ME DOWN" were big inspirations outside of poor Tommy's terrible sleeping habits.


End file.
